"Oooh no, you can't trust no elves never, see. They be strange and terrible beasties, with 'orribly wicked ways. They smell of tar pits, 'ave 'eads shaped like mushrooms no less, an' are scared of garlic. That's why I al'ays eats garlic for moi lunch; so's them bloody elves don't come an' steal moi 'orses. I didn't do so for one day, an' look what 'appened. It was elves what set moi 'erd of 'orses on fire with their evil fire ray from the sky, an' then they paid goblings to steal moi chickens and beat me up!"
– Ol' Phil, uneducated horse herder
…
Louise de la Vallière climbed and climbed a long, spiralling staircase in the depths of the Abyss. Was she going up? Was she going down? Most of the time she felt she was ascending, but there were moments when she wasn't so sure. Out the windows, she could see a smoke-choked landscape, fires burning in the distance. On the occasions she was close to the ground, she could see demons outside, choking in the fumes.
She followed the staircase to the end, though, as she had been instructed by Scarron, and rapped on the brass-bound door. "Come in," a voice called out.
It didn't sound... demonic. That was probably a reassurance.
The room past the door was very normal, all things considered. One did not expect a room which actually looked remarkably like Eleanore's back at the estate, what with papers scattered over the surfaces and pinned up on the walls, but that was what it was. And the black basalt and brass themes were somewhat broken up by the fact that the walls had been whitewashed, and there were watercolours of kittens and ponies and the like on the walls.
Sitting on the chair in the room was quite possibly the most handsome man Louise had ever seen in her life. His long black hair and the way it matched his slightly pointy chin made her feel weak at the knees. Her mouth felt as dry as the heights of summer as she stared him up and down, her eyes picking out his wide hips, waist, generous bosom and...
Wait. Wait just a moment.
Louise slapped herself in the head with her ungauntleted hand, and squinted at the vision of manliness, who opened his mouth and spoke. And what he said was this;
"Oh, bugger. Did I leave it on again?"
There was a moment of uncertainty, and then, without changing in appearance at all, he was suddenly clearly and obviously female. She rose, and brushed some crumbs off her skirt. "Sorry," she apologised again, "am I running late again? Is it my turn for a shift in the aboveworld? I thought I didn't have any barmaid things booked today!" As she said that, a tiny stubby pair of horns retracted into her forehead, and the four atrophied bat-like wings in her back folded back in.
"What the hell was that?" Louise blurted out, eyes wide.
"... okay, you're not from Dad if you don't know about the thing, so... uh. Um." The dark-haired girl massaged her neck. She looked to be perhaps twenty; curvy and a little plump, which was enough to give her quite a bust, with her hair crudely thrown back in a hair band. "Half-incubus. Sometimes happens when I'm focussing really hard on something. I end up all attractive. It's bloody inconvenient."
"But..." Louise wetted her lips. "You were... I was... it was all manly and..."
"No," she said with the weary tone of someone who had to explain this kind of thing frequently, "As I said, I'm half-incubus. Not succubus."
"But…"
"And yes, I'm a girl." The woman sighed. "You have no idea how hard it makes finding a boyfriend when you're radiating raw masculine sex appeal. Girls stare at you slack-jawed and boys feel threatened. Bloody half-succubi have it easy… well, at least the girl ones." She shook her head. "But enough about that. Who are you, and why are you in my room?"
"Scarron... your father said that you did armour and... I'm a new Overlady and..." oh Founder drat it, her tongue was tying itself in knots and she was making a fool of herself, drat, drat, drat. She tried again. "I wish to commission a set of armour from you."
"Really?" the other girl asked, wide-eyed and remarkably enthusiastic. "Really really? I'm Jessica, by the way! Really?"
Louise looked around. That sounded... uh, a little too keen. "Yes?" she hazarded.
Jessica turned around, and made her way over to a desk covered in drawings. Louise's eyes boggled as she saw the contents of some of the sketches, which suggested either a fevered and perverted imagination obsessed with dark fantasies, or that the girl had been using some of the demons downstairs as models for improving her drawing skills. "Clearly, as this is my first proper commission of armour, we should do this from scratch!" Jessica announced happily. "Yes! This is my chance to make a name for myself. If an Overlady conquers a nation wearing my armour, that's the kind of thing which really establishes your brand! Even if you fail, as long as you make plenty of mess doing so your image – and thus my work – will go down in history! Time to show all those soulless infernal armouries who didn't want a half-breed designer what they were missing out on!"
…
The bar of the above-ground, non-Abyssal part of the Charming Fairies Inn was heaving. The normal crowd of misfits, mercenaries and malcontents were being served by women in low-cut dresses and men in tight breeches. Unusually, there was a table of perfectly ordinary children here, ordering drinks. It was felt that it was probably better for the children to be drinking in here where responsible adults could keep an eye on them. After all, no one wanted drunken children roaming the streets. The little buggers were enough of a pain when sober.
As one, the minions downed their beers, and sighed in relief. After much discussion, they had established that they were here incognito, and as the cognito they were wearing was the kind of thing that someone who would pay for beer wore, they had done so. There had been a minor ethical question raised by Fettid, who queried if they were breaking the Minion's Code by paying for something, but careful deliberation had decided that as long as they stole enough to make up for the shortfall before they left, they weren't doing anything Right.
It would be best if they stole the money they'd paid back naturally, but this was a demon-run bar, and demons tended to be unfriendly to acts of ethical plundering. And hard to kill when there were only five of you, which was really the determining factor in the moral calculus.
Because they were not meant to be fighting, and were just waiting for a chance to help the mistress, therefore, they went and had a second round of drinks.
"A hero!" the minstrel sang, strumming his instrument. "Yes, here I am, to tell you the tale of a hero!"
All around, there was a mild shift in attention, as people began to listen for a lack of anything better to do. "Booooring," whined Fettid, to which Maximilian replied by smacking him over the back of the head.
"Oh, our story starts with a hero,
A hero young and brave,
Bored, unloved, alone,
Adventure he did crave!
One day, when he was walking,
A terrible thief came by,
'I'm just an innocent secretary and this golem is here to help me with paperwork,' said she,
He knew it was a lie!"
There was a grating of teeth from the direction of Maximilian, at the mutilation of the song's meter.
"'You lie' said he, 'I'll strike you down',
The watchers prepared to lament,
Little did they know that he was going to win,
That brave hero, Guiche de Gramont!
He was a brave young hero,
A cunning plan he planned,
Against a golem he'd need all his skill,
So he started by drawing his wand
And then our brave..."
"Oi!" a voice yelled from the audience. It was revealed to come from a small, smelly tatterdemalion child, holding a club. "You is a terrible poet! Why you got so many different silly-balls on each line, huh? Too stoopid to work out the right number. And... and you rhymed 'lament' with 'Gramont', you hack! Those words not rhyme!"
Maggat sunk his face into both hands. "Ach," he muttered. "And this is why Maxy not go into bars." He perked up. "Oh well, fight time soon. Igni, I think we get in trouble if we is burning things, because this is horny bar. If Gnarl find out, he do terrible things to us. So smashy weapons only. And no stabby or poison, Fettid, got it?" He looked around, trying to see the green, who had vanished. "We is going to get in so much trouble for this," he muttered, just as Maximilian leapt at the ill-fated – and also just-not-that-good – bard and started beating him around the head with his club.
Disappointingly, the audience appeared to be of the opinion that the small smelly child had a good point, and this was much more amusing than listening to a hack bard sing about the exploits of Guiche de Gramont. After all, everyone had heard about how he had stopped Foquet of the Crumbling Dirt repeatedly since it had happened almost three months ago. 'Get some new material' was the general consensus; after all, it wasn't as if that was the only thing he had done since then.
And this happy state of affairs lasted until Fettid stabbed one of the nobles and stole his wandsword, at which point a bar brawl started in earnest.
…
"This?"
"Too much exposed flesh."
"How about this?"
"I can't just wear a robe open at the front like that with no corset underneath!"
"Hmm. This?"
"I do like the heels… but I think those spikes mean I wouldn't even be able to sit down without cutting myself. And once again, too much exposed flesh. And sharp bits."
"Well, how about this?"
"Half-naked. No way. I need armour on more than my arms, shins and... um, certain parts of my torso. No."
"This?"
"Two-thirds naked. Doubly no."
"This?"
Louise recoiled, covering her eyes. "Put some clothes on!" she shrieked, staring away from the half-incubus while blushing furiously.
Jessica pouted. "You're no fun," she accused, the shadows rolling back up her to solidify into a plain green dress. "Okay, okay, you can look again. I only did that because you're saying 'no' to everything I suggest."
"Everything you suggest is... is highly improper," Louise managed, still blushing furiously. "I can't wear that kind of thing. I just can't. Even if it was acceptable... and it's not... I... I don't have the figure for it, okay?" she said weakly. "You're just flaunting it by... by modelling illusion things like that. Catt... my older sister could pull it off, if she wouldn't be even more embarrassed by it than me. She's curvy. I'm not, and... and there's no need to rub it in! I... I just haven't had my growth spurt yet!"
Jessica threw her hands up and marched back over to her desk full of sketches. Rummaging through it, she recovered some books from under the papers. Louise winced to see the state of the spines of the tomes; they were nearly ruined from the way they had been treated. The dark-haired girl laid them down, and beckoned Louise over. "But look," she objected, "I've just been using classical reference sources as inspiration. Look... that one with the heels was worn by Lady Asamareth, who raised the dead all over Gallia around six hundred years ago. And the one you called 'half-naked' was the garb of the Anti-Popess Luxuira. And..."
"Wait a moment," Louise said slowly, staring down at the book. "Go back a page." She stared down at the figure there. It was probably a man from the build, but he was so completely wrapped in plate armour that it was possible that it could have been a muscular flat-chested woman. Nothing could be seen of his face at all, apart from the sinister burning eyes staring out of the deep shadows of his helmet. He held two brutal maces, each with heads shaped like a dragon's. Over the top of that was thrown a bear's skin.
"Who is he?" she asked breathily.
Jessica scanned her eyes over the page. "Uh... William the Bloody. Minor Albionese figure of Evil, fallen knight," she traced her finger down the page, "vanished in mysterious circumstances when owing money to some vampires."
"Oh, I like that," Louise said. "Not the vampires bit, but the look. Those spikes. That," she jabbed her finger at the page, "that is what all your women's things are not covering. Literally, in most cases! But that? That is armour for scaring people and protecting you! That is something that is sinister and dark and... and looks good!"
The dark-haired girl stared at her blankly. "No it doesn't. It doesn't show off your figure at all."
"I don't have a figure!" Louise growled, and then coughed. "Yet. I will. And..." she paused, flicking through the book. "Yes! Here! Look at this one, with the blank mask and that two-handed sword and the mix of leather and plate! He's far better than..." she turned a few pages, "... yes, she's using exactly the same sword, but she feels compelled t-to only cover half her face, and not wear anything on her l-legs!"
"But you have nice legs," Jessica said, motioning with sketches in hand. "Your legs are... what's the word? Svelte? Does that mean what I think it means? And look, if we go for a Westalphazza style of boot, the eye is naturally drawn all the way up. I really like that look. It's the perfect way to show them off."
"I'm fond of them! I don't want them to be burned when someone throws fire at me, or when... when shrapnel from a cannonball or something bounces along!" Louise said, folding her arms. "And look at that thing! I'd be freezing wearing that! No wonder you can see her... um... well, she's certainly very cold dressed like that! I refuse!"
She took a deep breath. There was a plan forming in the back of her head. A slightly naughty plan, one which some people might even call Evil, but it seemed to be the best way ahead. And for it, she needed armour which would leave her unrecognisable.
Louise squared her jaw. "I am going to be going up against a council of traitors and treasonous unfaithful scum-licking ex-fiancé dogs. I want them to be scared of me. I want them to see a scary dark lady who is going to crush them beneath her m-metal clad boots. Not someone that they... they think l-lusty thoughts about!"
And now Jessica's lower lip was wobbling slightly, the constant criticism clearly getting to the older girl. Louise let out her breath slowly.
"Look," she said, more gently. "Those drawings of dresses and the like are... are nice, even if they're a bit," she coughed, "adventurous. And I don't have many spare dresses right now that fit, so once I have the armour, we can talk about things for me to wear when I'm not wearing armour... because Founder knows, I won't want to wear it all the time. In fact," she added, "I'll certainly need more dresses, because... well, I can't sew," yes, that was it, make a guarded confession, "and have you ever seen minions try to stitch? They're horrible. They'll sew both arms together and then tear new holes, given even the slightest chance."
Despite herself, Jessica giggled, perking up as she spread her papers out again and picked up a fresh charcoal. "Right," the older girl said, cracking her knuckles. "Yes! That's it! I have been too tied up in the old moribund ways of the old-school fashion houses! I'll show them! I'll take the classically masculine imagery and give it a new neo-gothic female touch! I'll blend the old fashioned Steel-and-Blood school with new post-Imperial tendencies!"
"Um," said Louise, who understood most of the words in the other girl's sentence when taken in isolation, but sort of lost track of them when combined. She decided to press on. "After all," she added, "Karin of the Heavy Wind was clearly the greatest Hero of the last generation by a long, long, long way, so... um, she wore full plate, and why not l-look to her for inspiration? For how you can armour someone without... um, forgetting to put armour on?"
"A classic! Post-feudal fallen knights! Yes! An Overlady for a new era, an era of blackpowder and bloody conquest!" Jessica declared, charcoal scratching away against parchment like a demented and highly enthusiastic spider.
"... you did get that I liked the heels from that earlier one?"
"Yep! And it'll play with the feminine themes, the clear statement that 'No, I'm not some half-succubi bitch who can get boyfriends by blinking my stupidly long eyelashes at people, so I have instead enough raw power to burn your face off and am not to be messed with'. Assertive gynomagacracy, the power to take what you want rather than relying on some little idiot who falls for the first blonde-haired horned tart who waltzes up when the two of you had something which was going pretty well, all things considered! It'll look hellishly." She paused. "Although I will need to put some enchantments in them to help with the balance which... yes, that means... yes!"
Louise sighed, and went to look for somewhere to sit. This was going to take a while, she just knew, and so she might as well use the chance to put her own thoughts in order.
…
Igni went from groaning body to body, emptying their purses. His red-skinned hand closed on a holstered pistol, and his eyes lit up. And so did the runes on the back of his left hand. "Igni likes," he all but drooled, hastily grabbing all the powder he could find off the badly beaten man.
Pausing for a moment, the minion looked around the room. There was still fighting going on, but by and large things had settled down into cursing, moaning, and scantily-clad barmaids picking grown men up by their heads and slamming them together.
Igni made a note that they were probably hornies, and therefore to be avoided.
Maggat, of course, was looting, in an even more systematic and efficient manner. He had brought his sack with him, and it was already bulging. Fettid was somewhere – who knew where a green went, except by the smell – and Scyl was up in the rafters, his brand new cloak wrapped dramatically around him. And Maxy...
Maxy had the unfortunate bard by the collar. "Say it!" the brown demanded of the terrified man. " Say it!"
"I... I... I..."
"Say it proper-like! You wasn't stammerin' when you was doing it!"
"I... I solemnly swear to... to..."
"To never, ever, ever."
"T-to never, ever, ever... tr-try to rhyme two," he choked, as the brown tightened his grip, "to rhyme two or more words together which... which don't actually. Which don't actually rhyme."
"And?"
"And... an' I... I sw-swear that I will... I will... k-keep to the meter of poetry and s-songs!" the man managed, his voice rising in sheer terror. "And that if I break from it, it won't be because I c-couldn't be b-bothered to think up an extra verse to get theextrawordsin!"
The minion hit him over the head, and divested him of his purse, his lyre and his jacket in one impossibly smooth motion. Maximilian strummed the lyre, and nodded, once. "Well, I think we is just about done here," he said, cheerfully. "It Evil day for money and for music."
...
By now, Louise was standing around in her underthings, incredibly happy that she had made sure to wash everything last night and dry it off with pink-burning fire. The scorch marks hardly showed. Jessica was making sketches of her, trying various configurations from the books. Louise was unsure of how things were turning out, but what she did know is that her arms were feeling sore from being held out like this, and she really hoped the half-incubus could hurry up.
Eventually, she was nodded at, the dark-haired girl beaming.
"Is it done?" Louise asked, hopefully.
Jessica looked shocked. "No, of course not," she said. "That was me getting a basic profile of you and your shape and... you know, stuff. Now," she reached for thinner paper on her desk, "now I actually begin drawing the armour models. Oh, and don't really bother putting your clothes back on, because once I've got the sketches we're going to have to measure you."
Louise groaned. At least it was warn here; if she was to be perfectly honest things were probably more pleasant in just her chemise than she had been in the long thick robe. But that wasn't the point! The point was that she was sitting around in her underthings! Which was not a thing that proper ladies did!"
"There's a blanket over there if you're chilly," Jessica added.
Gratefully, Louise picked it up, and wrapping it tight around her, she shuffled back over to her seat. After a few minutes alternating between looking around the room, looking out into the thick smog outside, and blushing when she saw the sketches pinned up above the other girl's table, she cleared her throat. "So... um?" she asked. "I don't hope this is rude, but, I do maybe sort of have to ask... how did you. You know. Um. Come about."
"Oh, you know how it is," Jessica said casually, not even looking up.
Louise did not know how it was, and said as much.
"Ah. Okay, well, basically..." Jessica looked up, stretching out her right hand and working her wrist, "like, about sixty years ago the dark lord of the Abyss tried to take over the overworld. You know, portals, ravaging demons, pretty standard. Only, um, the wandering party of Heroes who had just killed the Butcher of Iberia happened to be near one of the first portals, were sucked into the Abyss, then went and killed most of his generals, burned down his citadels, and eventually fought him. He went and bragged how he'd always return, and then they went and bound him into the body of one of their number, who was... like, this wandering archer from the mystic East. So the lord of the Abyss got trapped into a mortal body, with the man still in control, and the invasion just kinda completely failed then. And he married one of the other Heroes, and they settled down in her village."
"Ah," Louise said, nodding with a certain degree of understanding. She knew how it was to, for reasons which were not your fault, end up with allegedly-evil power. "So they had children, and there was demonic taint in them, hence your father and you?"
Jessica looked somewhat uncomfortable. "Not exactly," she said, slowly. "Then, twenty-ish years ago, Dad tried to unite the lands of the Abyss together to try another invasion and free his father, and... uh, got thrashed. And my mother, who was the niece of the original Heroes, snuck in to his tower and... well, that's where I came from. He's a really good dad," she hastened to add, "he's just... well, a bit odd. Oh, and bound by blood to be like that and if he were freed again he would seek to crush the world for the humiliation that it inflicted on him. So that's a thing to bear in mind."
She paused.
"But seriously, I couldn't have asked for a better father. He's always been really supportive of my ambitions, and I certainly wouldn't be getting these kinds of opportunities if I was just some peasant girl! I'm much better off than my cousins!"
...
"She... she was dressed like a man at first," Scarron managed, slumped down with a pile of empty bottles in front of him. Gnarl's blue image floated by him, trying to look sympathetic rather than gleefully malevolent at the suffering of another. "She seduced me! And then when I was going to slip into something more comfortable, she... she was a thief! She stole my... my two great treasures, from th-th-their place at the base of the Rising Tower. W-without them, I... m-my power w-was gone," he wailed.
"Jewellery has been the downfall of many a great force of Evil," Gnarl agreed.
Scarron shot him a disgusted look through tearful eyes. "H-how can you s-say that?" he managed, before breaking down again. "W-without my... my preciouses, th-the Rising Tower fell, and has r-remained f-fallen since then. And... and th-then she used one of them, t-to b-become pregnant, and s-so bound me with my own bl-bloodline! Me! Of all people! When I... I went t-to lengths to avoid that kind of thing!"
"There, there."
"... and, and then she made me follow h-her back to her hometown while she had the child, and... and when Jessica was five, she r-ran off with some little shiny paladin git, t-taking the remaining precious gem of the Rising Tower with her!" Scarron roared, seizing a full bottle and crushing its neck with his bare hands, drinking from the jagged hole before discarding it. "Leaving me with the child! Who I'm forced by the binding to protect!
"The worst part... the worst part is, Jessica is the bit which makes my... my emasculated slavery even a bit tolerable. And yet she keeps me chained because... because she is my own flesh and blood. I h-hate it, but I can't hate her. She... she reminds me of my older sister, before my younger sister murdered her. You know Gnarl, I never liked my younger sister. Stupid vapid little giggling pain in the backside who thought being a succubus was all about sex; not like poor S'suzenne. She knew things about... about intellectual temptation and how... how a well-chosen outfit can look better than mere nudity and... and how to have an intelligent conversation about art and the like. I used to... to really like our debates. It's... it's funny how much Jessica is like her." Scarron's moustache drooped in misery. "Dark gods, I miss her so much."
Gnarl stared at him, stroking his goatee. "Old friend," he said, "things must have been dreadful for you. Why don't you have another drink, to calm your nerves, and then we can talk about payment for your services?"
...
Louise had dozed off in the warmth under the blanket, and so it was Jessica's enthusiastic "I'm done!" which woke her. She opened her eyes to see the other girl holding a series of complicated sketches labelled in some unknown writing system, and blearily rubbed her eyes.
"Eh?" she just about managed. How long had she been asleep? Sleeping rough last night must have taken more out of her than she'd thought.
"I'm done!" the girl repeated, with the same excess enthusiasm. "Look!" Shadows rippled around her, and left standing was...
... oh my, Louise thought, rising to her feet and letting the blanket slip down in her wide-eyed awe. That was astonishing.
Before her stood a robed and armoured figure. The robe was the first thing to catch the eye, and seemed to be based on the black robe she had worn to this meeting. This one, however, was in a deep, bloody crimson. And there were other differences. The robe was merely knee-length and short in the sleeve, well-placed cuts added to prevent it from reducing her ability to run. The hood was full, and cast the face in half-shadow, exposing only the mouth. Leaning in, squinting, Louise realised that somehow, the cut of the robe suggested cleavage that did not exactly exist, playing at the figure underneath. Where she went in, the robe followed closely, but where things went up and down it billowed, in a deception of well-cut fabric.
And rather than exposed flesh under the garment, there was steel. Dull, sullied steel which glinted in the hellish light from the windows. It wrapped every limb tightly, and under the opened robe there was plate which implied figure-hugging while not actually doing so. Even the heels were armoured. With a giggle at the expression on Louise's face, Jessica threw back the hood, to reveal the helmet underneath. Somehow the shadows clung to it too, still-shrouding half the face in a horned helmet which brought to mind both beasts and crowns.
"I'd recommend red lip-paint if you're going to wear the helmet like that," she advised Louise. "You want to bring out the lips here; I only went for woven shadow for the half-helm option, because you wanted to keep some feminine traces, and... uh, well, woven shadow is pretty expensive, you know."
"It's... it's perfect," Louise breathed. Before her was a figure of terror, of awe, of dark and imperial majesty. They were female, but they were female in a regal, bloody way.
It... it was like looking at Mother's dark reflection. And it was wonderful.
With a wave of her hand, Jessica dismissed the illusion, and picked up a tape measure. "Well, now comes the boring part of measurement," she said with a smug grin. "It's... it's really perfect?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Oh, that's wonderful! This is going to be amazing! I just know it is! And... oh yes, I'll get your measurements here so we can start talking about dresses too!"
Jessica busied herself with chatter as she began to measure up Louise, jotting down numbers as she went. Louise, for her part, was silent. This armour... it was the last piece she needed. The part she needed for her plan. It would be glorious, it really would.
Step One – build up her forces and gather wealth by attacking the treasonous forces of the Council. Gain a small reputation as a dark evil lord of unknown identity.
Step Two – "kidnap" Princess Henrietta from the palace and confine her to her secret, isolated tower where no-one could possibly find her. Issue ransom notes which demand that the Council surrender to her before she releases Henrietta; naturally, they almost certainly wouldn't do that. And that way, not only would Henrietta be safe, but she'd also have someone to talk to who wasn't a minion. Founder, that would be wonderful.
Step Three – Crush the Council-members-who-weren't-Viscount-Wardes. Slowly or quickly, it didn't really matter. Whichever was easier.
Step Three-and-a-bit – Spend a long time crushing Wardes for being an unfaithful dog who didn't even wait a whole season after her 'death' before jumping into bed with another woman. Slowly, painfully, and vengefully. Wait, maybe she should also spend longer crushing the Madame de Montespan, because she might have been the one tempting him.
Step Three-and-a-bit-more – Mop up whatever was left of them, and crush anything that she'd missed in earlier bits of Step Three. And do whatever other things were necessary, possibly involving crushing. She'd know when she got to that point.
Step Four – Tread the jewelled thrones of the world beneath her steel-clad heels, seize Bruxelles and raise her banner over the palace, possibly take the chance to attack the foes of her nation under a false identity, et cetera, et cetera.
And then... well. It would be so horrible if this faceless villain controlling all of Tristain was overthrown by one of their prisoners, the brave and valiant Princess Henrietta, who had been taken hostage by him. Such bravery, such heroism to defeat the monster who had killed all the Council in messy and fully-deserved ways would surely forgive any small mistakes she might have made in the past. Especially when her accusers were all dead. And if the princess would also rescue her friend, Louise de la Vallière, who had been taken prisoner long ago... well, Cattleya would surely be delighted to find her little sister was alive, and Mother would never need to know what Louise had been up to.
It was the perfect plan.
Louise began to chuckle.
"Oi!" Jessica glared up at her. "What's so funny? If these measurements are mucked up because you're moving, you're going to be the one who's going to be rubbed raw by chafing plates, not me."
"Nothing," Louise said serenely. "Nothing is wrong whatsoever."
...
